


Cause and Consequence

by AeonDelirium



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dark, Disturbing Themes, M/M, Masturbation, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeonDelirium/pseuds/AeonDelirium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Ramsay’s smile renewed and widened to a grin. He knew how to read Theon, the anxious twitch of his bloodless mouth and the faintest flicker of fear in his sunken eyes. Nothing creates a bond between two men like blood and pain, and there had been plenty of it between them, enough for Ramsay to know just what was going on in his prisoner’s head.</i>
</p>
<p>Left to himself in the dungeons, Theon decides to try and find a bit of respite from his sorrows. Surprisingly, things are not that easy with Ramsay Bolton around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cause and Consequence

**Author's Note:**

> You know that unfortunate thing that happened to Theon Greyjoy's, well, _favourite toy_? Here's a couple of thoughts on the events leading up to it. As always with Ramsay Bolton involved, do proceed with caution.

For a man who had betrayed his friends and failed his family, even the littlest things were difficult. Theon leaned his head back against the hard stone, breathing out as he stared into the darkness. His hand was cold and shaky from hunger, and goodness forbid he so much as touch the scabs that covered the space formerly filled by his pinkie. But he was alone and miserable and determined, and his empty stomach and aching bones had kept him awake so long he could barely remember what sleep felt like. _I’ll be damned if I’ll let them take this from me as well._ He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

 

Sansa was out of the question. She was, after all, Robb’s sister, and thoughts of Robb were forbidden, if he was hoping to ever succeed in his efforts. Not that he hadn’t thought about her before. She’d always been pretty, lovely eyes and smooth skin and red hair, and pink lips that couldn’t possibly be as soft as they looked. And over the course of the past two years she’d only become more beautiful, more womanly. Some time must have passed since then, not that he cared or dared to do the sums. Enough time for a girl to properly fill a bodice.

 

Theon’s eyes opened with a mixture of surprise and annoyance when he realised that he was thinking of Sansa after all, and that it was having quite the effect he desired. He struggled with himself for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders deliberately as if to rid himself of guilt and consequence, and focused on rather more pleasant things.

Before long, his ragged breaths hung in the cold air as clouds of steam and sigh. It was surprisingly easy to imagine what Sansa must look like, but then again he’d seen her mother. A comely woman for her age. _Very comely indeed. And a widow too. She must be desperate by now._ Some stupid little voice at the back of his mind groaned in disbelief as his thoughts shifted to Catelyn Stark, but he silenced it with another hearty tug.

 

“If you come, I’ll cut it off.”

Just like that, it all crumbled away. Catelyn Stark vanished into the mist as his eyes fluttered open. Theon slunk back against the wall, confused, terrified and drenched in sweat.

How could he have let him catch him? How could Ramsay have been so quiet? How long had he been watching?

How –

He pressed himself flat against the damp stone as Ramsay approached, his smile all blinking teeth and glistening lips in the dark. _He’s ugly_ , he thought desperately, his fingers trembling as he struggled to lace himself back up, and it worked, of course it worked, if there was one thing that could make his manhood falter it was that face, _so ugly, so ugly, so –_

Theon yelped as a boot thumped on the floor, inches away from his fingers, from his –

“Stop.”

He obeyed, staring at the boot. A part of him raged, robbed of its pleasure, its _only_ pleasure. It was the part of him that was still proud and angry, and it hated his other parts, the ones that cried themselves to sleep, that called Ramsay _my lord_ , and begged for mercy when the pain became too much to bear. But even the proud part knew when to be afraid. And it was afraid when he saw the knife in Ramsay’s hand.

 

“My lord?” he said weakly, and felt like he was going to faint. At least it was enough to purge the last remnants of arousal from his body, making the threat useless. If Ramsay played fair. _If._ He clung to that foolish hope for a moment, knowing he would cry otherwise. Knowing he would beg before they had even begun. He would have to save his strength.

 

“I don’t remember giving you permission to touch yourself,” Ramsay said, sounding almost a little sad as he came down on his haunches to bring himself face to face with his prisoner. Theon paled when he laid the flat of the blade against his thigh, the metal cool through the threadbare fabric of his breeches.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said hastily, his voice shrill. Ramsay tilted his head as he let the knife slide further up. Theon made a stupid, involuntary attempt to cross his legs, but the bastard caught them in his grip with ease and forced them apart with a determined yank, so hard it was almost painful. The blade bit through fabric and skin where it pressed into his thigh, and beads of blood welled up from the cut with their distinctive smell of copper. Theon winced, struggling to keep his lips pressed together. Ramsay smiled.

 

“Of course you are. I would be.” He let go of Theon’s legs, the warning twinkle of his pale eyes enough to make certain he kept them in place. There was a small smear of blood on his thumb where it had trickled down the blade, and he flicked the knife into his other hand to stick it in his mouth, his eyes becoming distant for a moment as he seemed to ponder on the taste. Theon shuddered with fear at the display. _He’ll take a liking to it._

Ramsay’s smile renewed and widened to a grin. He knew how to read Theon, the anxious twitch of his bloodless mouth and the faintest flicker of fear in his sunken eyes. Nothing creates a bond between two men like blood and pain, and there had been plenty of it between them, enough for Ramsay to know just what was going on in his prisoner’s head.

“Stick a tap in a man’s heart and drain him dry.” He chuckled quietly. Theon drew a sharp breath when he pressed his thumb into the cut he had made, covering it once more in blood. Their eyes locked when he licked it away with a long flick of his tongue. “Wouldn’t that be a spectacle for my nameday feast.”

 

Theon pushed himself up against the wall when Ramsay let himself fall forward on his knees to sit between his legs. He could not help himself but try to get away, like the wild dog fears the open flame, only there was nothing wild about him anymore. Ramsay had seen to that.

 

The blade was cold against his cheek and sticky with blood, forcing him to remain still. His lips trembled with the sheer effort of remaining closed. _Please,_ he wanted to say, and his stomach churned with how sick he was of the wretched word, _please don’t hurt me. I’ll be good._

 

He gnashed his broken teeth together when Ramsay slid his hand down the front of his breeches. It hurt so bad his eyes were full of tears and dancing black dots after half a moment, but it was a familiar pain, a pain he was used to. He could hide behind it for a little while, sometimes. Pretend it was the only one. But this was new, and harder to ignore. The breath caught in his throat when Ramsay’s hand found what it was looking for. Ramsay gave him a look of mock admiration that almost turned genuine as his fingers explored. They were hard with callus and sticky with sweat, and Theon’s mouth tasted bitter with bile as he struggled not to retch.

 

“Not a bad cock,” Ramsay commented, his eyes shining with malice as he gave a lazy tug, making Theon tense all over. Still, he did not make a sound. As soon as he did, he would be playing along, and Ramsay seemed to love it best when he was playing along. He would only try to outdo himself in looking for a new game. And he was already enjoying this one far too much, if his smile was anything to go by. He seemed to display as many of his teeth as he could manage without breaking his jaw.

“Though I should like to see it in its full glory. There’s so many stories about it, after all. Theon Greyjoy and his magic cock of legend.” He took the knife from Theon’s cheek and began to saw through the lacing of his breeches, giggling like a giddy child when his fingers slipped from the handle.

“You’ll forgive me, I’m not as steady with my left,” he explained and watched the growing horror on the other man’s face with amusement as he went about his task without even looking. Theon almost breathed a foolish sigh of relief when the last bit of binding gave way, his feverish body covered in a sheen of cold sweat.

 

Theon ground his teeth until he nearly whimpered with pain when Ramsay’s fingers closed around him once more. He had not hurt him so far, not truly, but in a way this touch was worse than torture. Ramsay had had his cries and his pleas, his tears and sobs and _I’ll-do-anythings,_ but he had not had this. Somewhere, and if only in memory, he’d still been Theon Greyjoy, the Drowned God’s gift to whores and easy girls, the envy of friend and foe alike.

His insides turned to knots, knowing that Ramsay would not give in until he had tainted this part of him as well. He let his head sink against the wall with a shaky breath as the touch became more insistent, and his tired limbs came alive with goosebumps as his body began to respond. Ramsay licked his lips.

 

“Now that’s more like it.” He moved closer, so close their noses were just about to touch, until Theon could almost taste his breath. It was a smell of wine and something charred, and he was sickened by it, even though his body remembered how hungry he was. He dared not close his eyes, but he could not meet Ramsay’s glance either. He tried to look at his lips, but they were parted, and in the twisted half-dark of the cell his teeth appeared unnaturally sharp. There was a dark stain on one of them. Blood.

_He’ll eat me,_ he thought weakly, and though the thought was half fear and half fever, there was a strange, frightening truth to it. _He’ll eat me, skin and bones. Until there’s nothing left._   

 

Then there was a gasp, and there was silence, and the sudden realisation that his lips were no longer pressed together. Ramsay chuckled, a rolling sound from deep in his throat. He leaned forward until his breath tickled in Theon’s ear, and his fingers drew another sound from him with a flick of his wrist.

“You like that, don’t you?” He moved as he stroked him, their bodies almost rocking together. He smothered Theon with his presence, a huge black shadow that blotted out what light fell in from the corridor, a wall of hot, moving muscle, encasing him, crushing him, consuming him. Since he had been brought down here, Ramsay had become his world, but it was not until now that the weight of it finally sank in. Theon’s lips parted to a cry of dismay that mingled with helpless pleasure.

 

Ramsay’s breathing was thunder in his ear.

“I can be good if you are, you see,” he said, his voice a breathless growl. “I don’t have to hurt you if you don’t make me.” Then he stopped, abruptly. Theon trembled against him, so full of fear and need he was just about to finally give in and beg when the sensation of cold metal against his bare skin sent a shock through his body that stopped his heart.

_If you come, I’ll cut it off._

 

“No, please,” he heard himself say, his voice obscenely loud in the sweaty silence. “I … I didn’t –” _I wouldn’t have,_ he wanted to say, _you made me,_ he wanted to say. _It’s not fair, not fair, not fair._ But he knew it didn’t matter, he knew the truth was no use when Ramsay’s hand resumed its movement, carefully avoiding the blade. Theon beat his arms against him, senselessly trying to push him away, but it was like beating on a boulder.

“ _Please,_ my lord,” he wailed, and the last trace of pride seeped out of him when he ceased his struggling and lay his maimed hands against Ramsay’s chest instead, his fingers desperately curling into the smooth velvet of his doublet. “I’ll be good, I promise, I won’t do it again …” His voice grew thinner as he swelled under Ramsay’s touch, whose eyes were focused on his face with cruel intent.

 

“No, you won’t,” he agreed, and all mirth and merriment left his expression, his words sharp shards of ice to match his eyes, infinitely more terrible in their wrath than they were when they gleamed with glee. He brought his face close to Theon’s, tilting his head as if to kiss him, their breath mingling in the otherwise cool air.

“You will never displease me again.”

And with a little whimper, Theon could take no more.


End file.
